


Something Personal

by checkthemargins



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkthemargins/pseuds/checkthemargins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick is a young, renown neurosurgeon. Harry is his worker-minion. Liam is Harry's new boyfriend. Louis is Harry's best friend and an absolutely wretched little monster, and Nick is <i>stupidly, stupidly</i> in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Personal

**Author's Note:**

> I have a thing for neurosurgeon AUs I don't even know, I watch soaps it's a THING. I got stuck on my other Tomlinshaw and wrote this instead. You will note that I am not, in fact, a student of medicine so please take every single word in this fic with a grain or six thousand of salt. Really. I'm all about LiLo. LILO. I have to stop writing this nonsense. Also this got unexpectedly angsty in one part (and it's Nick-angst, also, which is just ridiculous since I am generally a fan of emotional-distress!Louis), so there's some minor OC character death in here that is a little sad. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don't own this band or the people in it or anything have to do with it. This is just for kicks and no money is made etc. etc. etc.

**Something Personal**

Nick is twenty minutes out of a six and three quarter hours long surgery, flush with triumph, and thinking longingly of a glass of wine and his bed when Harry waltzes uninvited into his office. He looks frazzled, curls unkempt, big green eyes wide and cheeks flushed as though he's been running, his school bag slipping half off his shoulder. Nick has been at work for thirty-seven hours. He has absolutely no time for the sort of delightful trouble Harry's most certainly brought with him.

"Hi Nick," says Harry.

"Haz," Nick returns delicately. Harry is one of his best friends, but Nick is not above making him cry if it means he gets to finally leave. "All right?"

"Zayn and I've brought Lou in. I got him set up in an empty room. He kind of slipped on the ice and smashed his head into the walk. Probably needs stitches."

Nick frowns. "Take him to A&E."

"I'd rather you did it," Harry says, very politely, shuffling his feet a bit and straightening the strap of his school bag on his shoulder. "I know you. It won't take long. Please? I _trust_ you with him."

He says it so earnestly and he's so fucking _sincere_ that what little hope Nick had of telling him no sinks to the bottom of the ocean and implodes under the pressure. He sighs grumpily. Harry's friend Louis is the _worst_ , an obstinate, sarcastic, bossy little brat with an irrational dislike of Nick. He can hardly imagine that a head wound is going to make him anymore tolerable.

"You owe me, Harold," he says severely.

Harry beams at him. "You're amazing, Grimmy, really. C'mon, he's two floors down."

"That floor is being renovated."

"Well I could hardly take him to a room in use, could I?"

Nick follows him sedately to the elevators, his bag and coat clutched in his hands so that he can leave straight away. If nothing else, making his exit from the currently abandoned fourth floor means he won't be stopped on his way to the car park. "What happened, anyway? He just slipped?"

It doesn't seem likely. Nick's hung around Louis enough to know that he's not a clumsy person. He's quite graceful, really, small and limber, though generally full of energy and nervous ticks. He's really only accident-prone when he's trying to be for the sake of a laugh. Nick tends to use a very effective tactic of mild good looks, humble self-deprecation and alarmingly quick wit to win people over. He's utterly charming. Louis goes for a more clownish approach.

"There may have been some pushing," Harry answers, looking embarrassed. He smashes his fingers against the elevator button and taps his foot impatiently. He's wearing a scarf that brings out the green in his eyes.

"Boyish Tomfoolery?" drawls Nick.

"Zayn feels awful, so don't say anything, all right? We didn't know there was ice. He just kind of yelped and went down."

"And he hit his head?"

The elevator doors finally open and Harry tugs Nick in by the wrist, hits the button for the fourth floor. "He's bleeding like crazy, but we had to force him to come in. I don't think he likes doctors."

"Well we know for certain that he doesn't like me."

"He does too like you!" Harry argues, and then grins a bit sheepishly when Nick lifts an incredulous eyebrow. "He's just. The two of you have the _worst_ communication skills when it comes to each other."

"My communication skills are _exceptional_. He's just ridiculous."

Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn't comment further, and Nick follows him off the elevator and through the fourth floor lobby and into the first exam room. This wing of the floor has been finished and restocked, as Harry very well knew because nothing happens in this hospital that Harry doesn't find out about, so Nick should have the supplies for a few stitches.

Zayn is standing in front of the exam table, and Nick looks around him to Louis, who's sitting on the end dazedly dabbing his once-blue scarf at a truly impressive gash that runs from his right temple to the center of his cheek. The scarf is soaked in red and anything but sanitary, fibers from the yarn already sticking wetly in the wound. Nick pulls it from his hand and looks down into hazy blue eyes that take far too long to focus on him.

"S'my scarf, Grimshaw," Louis says. Nick's last name comes out oddly elongated. He's is going to kill Harry.

"Well spotted. Can you tell me your name."

Zayn moves out of the way and Louis tips forward a bit. Nick steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, watches Louis turn his head lethargically to look at Nick's fingers and then back up to his face.

"Always talking _down_ to people," Louis complains, voice breathy and more than a little whimsical. He hums quietly, which is downright eerie what with the copiously bleeding head wound. "m'name is _Louis_."

"Good. My name?"

"Arsehole."

"I don't know why everyone likes you so well, you're horrible," Nick replies. "Really, tell me my name. And stay awake." He pinches Louis sharply in the arm and Louis makes an angry noise, but his slowly-closing eyes are open again.

" _Nick_. An' that's Harry, 'n' Zayn." His eyes are glazed. Nick would normally check dilation but Louis so obviously has a concussion that it's quite unnecessary. "Hazza," Louis whines. "m sleepy."

"Just let him have a look, Lou. You need stitches."

Louis makes a face, and when Nick touches his cheek very gingerly he makes a soft sound, but turns his head accordingly. "My head hurts," he murmurs.

"I can't imagine why. I need you to stay awake, love. Look at me?"

Louis blinks at him. "You 've a nice voice."

Nick smirks. "Thanks."

"Haz talks about you all fucking time, y'know?"

"I'm very interesting." The gash is relatively deep, and his temple is already badly bruised. "All right, gonna lie you down, okay?"

Louis hums and then, uselessly, tips forward again until he's resting his bleeding head on Nick's shoulder and he's babbling incessantly about something that must make plenty of sense to him, but he's slurring too badly for any degree of coherency. Nick grips his chin and forces his head up. Louis's eyes are heavy-lidded and he's frowning darkly.

Nick needs to get him downstairs into a real room, still, and that will be much easier if he's conscious. "Stay awake," he tells him sternly.

Out of what Nick is positive is utter defiance, Louis's eyes roll back into his head and he drops like a rock against Nick. Harry makes a startled sound and Zayn swears loudly, both of them pushing off the wall they've been leaning against to come help.

"Fuck, is he all right?"

" _Why_ didn't you bleeding idiots take him to A &E?"

"He was fine a few minutes ago!" Harry says, stricken. The three of them ease Louis down onto his back on the exam table. Zayn pushes a few strands of blood-sticky hair off Louis's forehead.

"Really, he wasn't acting concussed at all. We just thought he might need stitches. We would've taken him if we'd known."

Nick pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs darkly. Louis's going to need to stay for twenty-four hours, and now Nick has to take responsibility for him. He gives Harry a withering look, but Harry just looks sadly at his unconscious mate and wraps Nick up in a hug.

Christ.

 

 

He arrives back at work after a full six hours of sleep, gets reprimanded for attempting to treat someone outside policy, and spends a couple of hours listening to angry-slash-melancholy music as catharsis while he goes over a new patient file, and then around nine in the morning he goes down to check on Harry's twinky little friend.

Louis's asleep, turned onto his side, the extra t-shirt that Harry had with him absolutely swallowing him, falling off on his petite shoulders. He looks terribly pretty, even with the hundred and three stitches down the right side of his face. Nick manages to get through the overnight nurse's notes on vitals before Louis wakes up. Nick waits for him to look blearily around the room and catch sight of him before he speaks.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he sing-songs.

" _Ugh_ ," says Louis. "Just the thing I wanted to wake to."

Nick pulls the rolling stool out from under the supply counter and sits down, rolls up to the side of Louis's bed, grinning smugly. "That's not what you said when your lads brought you in."

Louis's frowns. "I didn't say anything," he snaps softly, but Nick can tell he's wracking his brain. If Louis remembers anything from yesterday it'll be something of a miracle.

"You told me that I have a nice voice. And that you'd like to bear my children."

"Fuck you," Louis murmurs, rolling his eyes. He brushes his fingers over his hair and winces when he touches his temple. "God."

Nick shrugs. "You've got a no narcotics request in your file, love. We've been pumping you full of ibuprofen but it won't quite take the edge off. Do you want something stronger?"

"No," Louis answers at once. Nick's curious, because he's generally nosy in the first place and also because Louis's only been in one other time for appendicitis when he was eighteen and very few people would go through that without drugs, but he doesn't ask. It's really none of his business. Louis watches him suspiciously and Nick offers him a winning smile.

"Harry's already texted thirty times. He and the rest of your boys will be by later."

"When can I leave?"

"Another six hours."

Louis hums, shoving the blankets down a bit. Harry wrestled him into a pair of hospital scrubs after they cleaned the blood off of him yesterday afternoon, and they're too long for him. Louis sits up carefully, wavering just a little. "You have to ask me a lot of stupid questions now?"

"I do."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Get on with it then."

He does very well. He doesn't remember anything after meeting up with Harry and Zayn to walk home after uni but the rest of the day is clear. Nick asks him a lot of standard questions, moves a few things around the room and makes Louis tell him where they were before. Louis gripes through all of it, which is annoying, but he's also obviously in pain so Nick lets it slide. Nick lets him get up and walk around a bit, hit the loo, and then checks up on him there when he takes too long and finds him at the mirror, looking unhappily at the stitches on his face and the admittedly ugly bruising.

"You've deformed me for life."

"At the first possible opportunity," Nick agrees.

"Is this going to _scar_?"

"I don't know." Louis glares murderously and Nick shrugs. "Hey, you slipped and fell, darling, I had nothing to do with that. You'd have _died_ if it wasn't for me."

That is radically untrue. Louis snorts, shoves past Nick and crawls back into bed. Nick gets a very nice view of his lovely bum. He pulls the covers up over his legs and rests his head gingerly on the pillow. Nick makes his way to the door. "I'll be in surgery when they let you out, but Harry should be here and Greg will give you home care instructions. I know it will be difficult, but do _try_ not to do anything stupid for the next week."

"You're such a fucking jerk," says Louis sleepily. "I don't know why Harry puts up with you."

"True love shouldn't be questioned."

Louis's expression darkens, because nothing makes Louis jealous like bringing up Nick's friendship with Harry does, and something about this twenty-year-old pain in his pretty, pretty arse manages to lower Nick back down to the vindictive and short-fused lad of his youth.

"Just go and dig tumors out of brains already, will you?" says Louis.

"What, no thank you? No 'Oh, Nick,'" he throws his voice into an obnoxious falsetto, "'however can I repay you? Let me get on my knees and—"

Louis's pillow smacks him in the face. Nick may or may not still be grinning when he scrubs in for surgery.

 

 

Pediatrics makes Nick uncomfortable for a number of reasons, the least of which is that he's really not all that adept with children. He was still one himself when his niece was born, and he's really never been around them much. They're confusing and emotional and, from what he can tell, an awful lot of work. But he has two patients under the age of seven, both of whom spend more time in hospital than out, so twice a week he braves the blindingly bright-colored halls of the children's wing to check up on them.

One is a girl called Lucy Ellis, who is newly four years old with giant brown eyes dimples, and her roommate is Alice Ranker, five years old and so full of sass that Nick actually quite enjoys talking with her. He nods and smiles at Finchy at the nurse's station, and makes his way to the girls' room.

He's ambushed as soon as he walks in, and lets out an unmanly squawk when Lucy lands on his back from midair, fumbling his hands out of his pockets in order to get his arms under her legs so she doesn't fall. She cackles, delighted, right into his ear, little hands grasping hard at his lab coat. Alice is standing on her bed, both girl and blankets covered inexplicably in silver glitter, green eyes wide and a huge smile on her face, a toy Thor helmet from the Avengers film atop her head.

"Alice…" he says warningly, but it's too late, and twin handfuls of glitter rain down on him.

"You dare defy the son of Odin!" she shouts, and Lucy yells "Avengers, Assemble!" in his ear.

Nick sighs. "All right, you uncouth beasts, no more bed jumping, please."

He slouches to let Lucy scramble off his back, and she crawls onto Alice's bed. There's glitter _everywhere_. It's making Nick twitchy.

"What does uncouth mean?" says Alice, dropping to sit cross-legged next to her friend and adjusting her helmet importantly.

"It means without couth."

"Couth!" shouts Lucy.

"What does _that_ mean?"

Nick lifts an eyebrow at them, pulling their charts from the holsters attached to each bed. "It couth mean anything."

He bites his lip, because it's unbecoming to laugh at your own joke, but the girls stare at him blankly, absolutely unappreciative of good humor, and he sighs again. "You two make me tired. Where did the glitter come from?"

Lucy blushes so red that Nick doesn't need Alice's teasing, " _Harry_ came to see us today, didn't he Luce?"

Nick tries very hard not to roll his eyes. Harry's more or less an indentured servant who works three days a week after he's finished his classes. The last Nick checked Harry's official title on the personnel list was Whipping Boy. He's been working at the hospital for nearly three months, and his time belongs to whoever spots him first. His tasks range from baby-sitting in the pediatric wing to making coffee runs to cleaning the men's toilets.

He's Harry, so most everyone is just in love with him, and Lucy has had hearts in her eyes since she first saw him. She calls him _'Lovely Hazza'_ and spends a significant amount of time drawing him pictures of their future wedding. She's breathless now at just the mention of his name.

"He made pictures with us. He and his friend."

Nick tilts his head, hating himself for the sharp curiosity. He does his best to act very casual as he flips on the fluorescent light on the back wall so that he can hang the girls' newest x-rays. "He brought a friend?"

"His friend was _short_ ," says Alice, "and he had a hurt on his face."

She's always called it that, any ailment at all is a hurt. Lucy is scheduled for what will most likely be a very successful surgery in three weeks, her treatment going along swimmingly. But Alice has a tumor the size of her fist on her brain stem, and the aggressive chemo isn't helping nearly as much as it should.

"He was cute!" Lucy says, giggling, and Nick turns back to them. Lucy's stretched out on her stomach, kicking her little purple-socked feet in the air. "He's called Louis and he has _four_ sisters and he made a dinosaur with sparkles."

"Mm. He's a handsome prince charming, I'm sure," Nick drawls. He returns the x-rays to their folders and sinks onto the rolling stool that he assumes is more often than not used for racing down the corridors. He wheels over to the foot of Alice's bed.

"He said he knows you. He said your hair is stupid and you smell funny," Alice says, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into what can only be a smirk. Either Louis taught her that or she's just as inherently evil as he is.

"I don't think you smell funny Dr. Grimmy," Lucy says earnestly. "And I like your hair. It's curly like Lovely Hazza's."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Don't bother listening to that miserable—" he catches himself before he gets 'twat' out.

"Uncouth beast?" says Alice.

" _Exactly_ ," says Nick.

 

 

"Your insufferable little monster has turned my patients against me," Nick says by way of greeting to Harry, who is, for some unknown reason, rifling around under Nick's sofa when he gets home. Harry has neither a key nor the alarm code for Nick's house, but that is less important than complaining to Harry about Louis.

"The girls?" Harry asks, voice muffled. His arse is in the air and his entire head and part of his shoulders are wedged under the sofa. Which is rocking precariously on its back legs.

"Yes. What are you looking for? I'm quite sure there's an easier way to do that."

Harry is an extremely intelligent guy. Nick would probably pay good money to understand his real life application. Harry growls in frustration and dislodges himself, curls askew and carpet burn reddening his forehead. He looks at Nick and points and laughs. "They got you with the glitter?"

"You brought them _glitter_."

"I wasn't going to just leave it there for them, but then Louis told them they should throw it at you—"

"Of course he fucking did."

"—and they were really excited about it."

Nick sets his bag down and toes his shoes off, and then goes to help Harry lift the sofa out of the way. "What were you doing there, anyway? You don't work Fridays."

"I was there with Lou and while we were getting his paperwork together Pixie found me and asked if I could help for a bit because they were short handed."

"Hm."

They set the sofa down three feet from where it was, and Harry says, "Aha!" and folds himself over to pick up an unopened package of gum, which he happily unwraps and pops a piece into his mouth. "Dropped this a week ago."

"You broke into my house for gum?"

"Oh, no. I actually came to ask if you wanted to come round mine and Lou's for drinks tonight. Pix and Greg will be there."

"Sure," Nick says. "Want to shower first."

Harry tilts his head at him, eyes crinkling up in a smile. "I got Lou home all right, by the way. Put him to bed and everything. He's doing well. I know you've been worried."

"I most certainly have not. I've been far too busy being a _brain surgeon_ to worry about your tawdry little…."

"You know every time you call him a little monster it just sounds like a term of endearment."

Nick hurls a shirt button he just picked up off the floor at him. It makes a satisfying little clap when it hits Harry's forehead, but Harry just smiles smugly so Nick rolls his eyes and wanders off for his shower.

The infuriating thing is that Nick's had a crush on Louis since shortly after they met nearly six months ago. Harry introduced them at a pub one weekend. Louis had sashayed in wearing tight trouser rolled up to show his ankles and a pair of Toms on his feet and a cap-sleeved t-shirt, with his ridiculous quiff and his lovely blue eyes and his pretty pretty face. He'd taken one look at Nick, frowned, and turned to Harry, hands on hips. " _This_ is him?"

Nick had been slightly offended. "Well, you're not quite what I expected either, doll. Harry didn't mention that Louis Tomlinson was a pseudonym for Peter Pan."

Louis'd scowled furiously, and the evening had ended quite early with Louis stomping off after Nick ordered him something off the child's menu. "You're awful," Harry'd said.

Nick had shrugged, stealing one of Harry's chips. "He'll never grow up."

Ever since, their relationship has been an eternal competition of antagonizing each other, and Nick's admittedly quite besotted. Louis is sharp and wry and quick-witted and sort of obscenely pretty. Nick usually enjoys being around him, even though Louis is an intolerable pain and can infuriate Nick like no other person ever has before.

It's really quite unfair. Nick dates quite a bit but he's never been instantly attracted to someone like that. Even before Louis opened his mouth Nick was taken with him, small and pretty and Nick could vividly imagine crowding him up against a wall, Louis having to stand up on his toes to reach, kissing him wetly under the throb of terrible restaurant music.

He showers quickly, spends an admittedly ridiculous amount of time deciding what to wear and even longer on his quiff, and is shrugging into a jacket as he joins Harry in the sitting room. Harry's sprawled on the sofa—now moved back to its original spot—and is messing about on his phone. He grins up at Nick when Nick leans over the back.

"Shall I bring my own wine?" he asks.

"Lou picked some up after the last time you were over," Harry says mischievously. "Said if you were just going to complain the whole time—"

"I wasn't complaining! I was commenting on his atrocious taste in—"

"Seriously, the two of you should just take it into a bedroom already."

Nick flips him off, eyes narrowed, and ignores Harry laughing at him as he ushers him out the door.

Harry and Louis's flat is everything you'd expect from two uni students in London, cluttered and full of mismatched furniture, but quite a bit bigger than one would think they could afford. Nick's not entirely sure how they manage to pay for it, though he assumes Harry's parents are helping him, and Louis works two jobs in addition to school, but they're in a very nice area and it's awfully cozy. Pixie, Greg, Zayn, Harry's friends Niall and Liam and a bunch of people Nick doesn't know are already there. Harry's sound system is playing _The Decembrists_ in the background.

"Grimmy, it's been forever, mate!" Liam says from his spot on the sofa, grinning. He's quite possibly the most precious thing Nick's ever seen. He's in one of Harry's classes, and Harry's been staring at him with moon-cow eyes and talking about him almost non-stop for three months. Nick grins at him and pinches Harry's arse cheekily when Harry comes back into the room with a beer for himself and a glass of wine for Nick.

He settles down onto the loveseat between Greg and Pixie, who kisses his cheek. The television is on mute, a football game on screen.

"You've got glitter on your face," Greg says, rubbing his thumb over Nick's cheek. The he pauses and looks scandalized. "Did you dress up as Marilyn without me?"

"I would never. Louis talked my pediatric patients into playing a bit of a prank on me."

Greg, for his part, at least tries not to laugh, but he fails utterly to hide his grin. He turns a chuckle into a cough and looks at Harry, who's sunk onto the floor in front of them and is playing some kind of drinking game with Zayn and his lovely girlfriend Perrie, a deck of cards between the three of them. "Where is Louis, anyway?"

"Sleeping," Harry answers, downing a shot of tequila and making a face at the Queen of Diamonds he drew. Liam comes around to sit quite close behind him and Harry's cheeks redden endearingly as he smiles at him.

"Now?" Greg asks incredulously. It's pretty loud. Niall is chatting up a dark-haired girl and a few of Harry's other friends are gathered in a corner, laughing loudly. Nick's not sure why Harry always invites so many people. It always ends up being his four lads and Nick and Greg and Pixie left at the end.

"He can sleep through anything," Harry says, which is just untrue, because Louis's the lightest sleeper Nick's ever met. Nick knows this from the times they've all passed out together in this same room, which happens embarrassingly often. Harry tilts his head, and amends, "Well, when he has a concussion anyway."

"Well I suppose that makes sense," says Greg.

It's really very relaxed, and Nick has a day off for the first time in three weeks tomorrow and it's so relieving that he doesn't even feel the need to drink copious amounts. Most of the party leaves around midnight, until it's just the seven of them. Harry is happily tucked under Liam's arm, the two of them sharing a chair that they don't quite fit into together. Perrie left earlier because she has to work tomorrow, so Zayn and Niall are stretched out with their legs in each other's laps on the loveseat, and Harry's put on _Lucky Number Slevin_.

Louis's bedroom door opens about ten minutes into the movie, and a sleepy, "Hazza?" precedes him out. "'m bleeding, think I—" He cuts himself off when he notices all of them looking at him, and he smiles dopily. "Hello."

"Shit, Lou, what happened?" Harry asks, making to get up, but he's quite stuck to Liam and Louis waves him off, wandering down the hall and into the bathroom. Harry shoots Nick a _look_ and he sighs and stands up.

"Shall I see to his royal highness, then?"

"Be nice," Harry demands. "He's sleepy."

Like that means something. Nick shakes his head and makes his way around the sofa and down the hall. Louis's taken out the ointment Nick prescribed for him and put it on the sink, and is running warm water over a damp flannel. His eyelids are heavy and his hair a wreck. He's soft with sleepiness.

"Let me have a look," Nick tells him.

Louis's docile, lets Nick grip his chin gently to turn his head so the wound is in the light. He takes the flannel out of Louis's hand and dabs at the bloody spot carefully. "Looks like you just aggravated it a bit. Your stitches are all right."

"'s blood on my pillow, now," Louis grumbles.

"Well we can put a plaster on it," he says. He grabs the box of plasters from the cabinet and then shuffles Louis over so he can wash his hands. Louis's quiet, which is never a good sign, watching Nick sleepily. Nick sits on the counter and spreads his knees, tugs Louis to stand between them.

"Face the shower, love."

Louis quirks an eyebrow at him, but does as he's asked. It's oddly tense and not necessarily in a bad way. Nick gently washes the rest of the blood away with the flannel. Blowing on it to help it dry is both useless and unnecessary, but he can't stop himself and Louis shivers a little and that's just lovely. He's little and fits nicely here between Nick's legs, whatever the context. As Nick's applying the ointment to the angry bottom portion of the wound, Louis says, "Why'd you choose medicine, anyway?"

"I wanted to have 'Dr.' in front of my name."

"Really," Louis says, rolling his eyes. "If I hadn't known you were a doctor when I met you I would've thought you were some Indie film director or something. Did you always want to cut into people's brains?"

Nick caps the ointment, smears the excess off his fingers and onto the flannel. "My childhood friend died of brain cancer when we were eleven. I watched him go through all of it. I reckon I decided around then to go into neurosurgery."

Louis turns his head, and Nick's about to admonish him—hello, trying to help—but the look on Louis's face sticks the words in his throat. "I'm sorry," Louis murmurs.

Nick's not entirely sure if he's being sincere, but when nothing else comes he simply nods and forces Louis to turn his head again so he can put the plaster on. "It was a long time ago. How're you feeling? Memory fuzzy?"

Louis shakes his head gingerly and flicks the fringe of his hair out of his eyes. "No, just yesterday. Remember everything that happened today." And he smiles and reaches up to touch Nick's cheek, his fingertips cold. "They got you with the glitter. You're sparkling."

"You're _banned_ from pediatrics," says Nick at once. Louis's still touching him though, his fingers sweeping over Nick's cheekbone. Nick's just about to ask what he's doing when Louis tilts his head and looks at him thoughtfully.

"You're a pompous cunt."

Nick blinks. That was just uncalled for. "You were being so sweet for a moment, darling."

"In case you didn't know," says Louis.

"Well, you're an insufferable, miserable, childish little prick, so I think that makes us even."

Louis steps in closer and Nick closes his knees so they're snug against Louis's hips. He can feel his heart beating. Louis wets his lips. "I'm going to kiss you now."

And Nick wants to come back with something terribly clever and witty, but instead he says, "Okay."

Louis rocks up onto his toes and slants their mouths together, and it feels _good_ , just like this. Nick licks his way into Louis's mouth and slides his palm down to the small of Louis's back, his hand spanning the entire width. He cups the side of Louis's neck, feels the vibration of Louis's moan when Nick drags the tip of his tongue along the underside of Louis's. Louis's fingers curl into Nick's shirt, tangle into his hair.

Vaguely, Nick is aware that this is a terrible, _terrible_ idea.

Louis breaks the kiss with one last, gentle nip at Nick's lip. Nick's mouth is tingling in the aftermath and she he drags his palm up the arch of Louis's back Louis breathes out slowly, his fingers tightening in Nick's hair.

"You've thought about this before, haven't you?" says Louis, pretty eyes full of evil.

"If you would just stop _talking_ ," Nick complains, long-suffering.

"I _know_ you've thought of ways to keep my mouth busy."

Nick shakes his head, lips curled into an unwilling smile. "Just how hard did you hit your head yesterday, doll?"

"Hard enough to start making very bad decisions," Louis says, and sinks to his knees.

"Jesus," breathes Nick. Louis smirks, wets his lips, uses his foot to close the door with a quiet click, his hands settling on Nick's hips. His eyes flicker up to meet Nick's curiously.

"Last chance to back out, Grimshaw."

Nick has a moral code. He really does. It does not extend to him saying no to Louis on his knees for him, though, concussed or not. 

Nick threads his fingers into Louis's hair. "I'm in if you are, Tomlinson."

Louis unfastens Nick's trousers, and Nick tilts his head back against the wall and closes his eyes and thinks, _Yes._

 

 

When he wakes up, there's a piece of paper taped to his flat belly that reads _At work. Your money's on the table._ and Harry is standing in the open doorway of Louis's room, chomping on a biscuit and smiling innocently. Nick groans and flops back down. He's actually sore from how good it was last night, thighs achy. Three rounds with Louis and Nick's mind feels blown.

"'lo Grimmy," Harry says.

"Why didn't you stop me?" Nick mutters, wincing as he tries to peel the tape off his stomach and it pulls hair.

"Are you serious? You two were so loud the others _left_."

"Even Liam?"

Harry ducks his head, smiling so sweet it's precious, cheeks red. "No, Liam stayed. He left just a few minutes ago."

"See, you should be thanking us, then," says Nick. "We inspired horniness that got you the man of your dreams."

Harry chucks a biscuit at him, and Nick catches it deftly, frowning when it crumbles in his hand and spills all over his chest. Christ, these _children_ are going to be the death of him.

"And you finally got with the man of _yours_ ," Harry says. Nick snorts, holds up the note.

"Did you read this?"

"Oh please, that's how Louis shows his love. I'd only be concerned if he _hadn't_ implied that you're a prostitute."

"It's not as though I've been subtle. He doesn't even _like_ me, Harry."

Harry looks at him for a long time, and then balances his box of biscuits precariously on the stack of DVDs on Louis's desk and crawls onto the bed. Nick shuffles a little further under the covers, just because, and Harry lies down next to him, pokes him in the cheek.

"He likes you." Nick cocks an eyebrow, and Harry bites his lip, smiles a little sadly. "He's just...cautious. You know Lou."

And the thing is that Nick _does_. He's been psychoanalyzing the little brat ever since he met him, so completely fascinated by him that he's spent an inordinate amount of his time contemplating the inner working of Louis's ridiculous head. Nick likes _brains_ , is the thing. Nick likes _Louis's_ brain.

Louis's a brat, and an attention whore, and he gets distracted easily and he's generally sarcastic but really, really nice to most people who are not Nick. His insecurities are so well hidden and squared away that it's impossible for them to be debilitating if only through Louis's perfect grasp on compartmentalization, but they're very much a part of who he is and how he thinks, and his defense mechanisms are outrageous; he can go from sass and sex appeal to ice princess in a second.

Louis is loud, and he's obnoxious, and he's spent his _entire life_ trying desperately to be good enough and always, always feeling like he's failed.

Nick isn't sure who it was or what it was that broke Louis inside but every time he gets the little shit to smile or shout or glare or storm off he feels like he's done something right.

"I know," is all he says to Harry. "He really shouldn't be working today."

Harry shrugs. "I couldn't talk him out of it."

"Which is he doing, anyway?" Louis works a lot, either at the university's library or a restaurant a family friend of his owns.

"The restaurant. We'll go see him later, yeah? You can take him to dinner once he's off."

Nick hmphs quietly and buries his face in Louis's pillow, smells the remnants of his cologne and growls when Harry pats his head patronizingly and gets crumbs all over his back.

 

 

He spends the day trawling about London with Harry. Liam joins them in the afternoon, smiling like an absolute doll, and he and Harry hold hands and whisper in each other's ear and are generally precious. Liam pays for Harry's lunch and flushes red at the huge smile on Harry's face and Nick is so revolted he barely eats anything at all. 

Around eight in the evening, after catching a truly awful film at the cinema, they head to the trendy French place where Louis waits tables every weekend and most afternoons. Louis's walking out the front doors as the three of them make their way up the steps, and he blinks at them sluggishly. He looks exhausted, but he grins all the same and hugs both Harry and Liam, eying their joint hands happily.

He hugs Nick, too, in an endearingly awkward and put-out sort of way that makes Harry laugh, and Nick rolls his eyes and grazes his knuckles over the back of Louis's neck and squeezes him back.

"N'aw, Lou's feeling cuddly," says Harry. Louis throws his keys at him and Harry catches them deftly, looking shocked that he managed it.

"Drive me home," says Louis imperiously.

"Nick is going to drive you home," says Harry, tongue in cheek. "Liam and I are taking your car. S'that all right?"

Louis hums and looks up at Nick through his eyelashes. He looked at Nick like that last night, too, when he was spread out and open wide underneath him and Nick was inside him and he was panting Nick's name and there were stars and fireworks and angels with violins serenading them because this epic crush on Louis has turned Nick into ninety-eight percent sap tree.

"All right," Louis says, finally, and then shoots Harry and Liam a sly look. "There are condoms in my bedside table."

Nick covers Louis's mouth as a public service and Harry narrows his eyes and Liam blushes so red he could probably heat the whole of London and stutters nonsense until Harry squeezes his hand and kisses his cheek.

"You're going to hell," Nick tells Louis on the way to his car, Liam and Harry disappearing around the corner toward the other side of the restaurant where Louis's car is parked. Louis just knocks his shoulder lightly against Nick's.

"You're all right with them then?"

Nick snorts. "I'm just glad it's finally happened. Harry's talked of nothing else for months. I ask him to bring me gloves, he orates a thirty-minute essay on Liam Payne's hands."

"To be fair, he probably doesn't know about your latex fetish."

Nick pinches Louis in the side and Louis _squawks_ and Nick has to keep him from falling over.

"Are you hungry?" Nick asks, once he's slid into the driver's seat of his car and Louis's buckling in next to him.

Louis gives him a weird look. "Is this some weird sort of foreplay?"

"I hear you don't put out before you're fed, classy darling that you are."

"It would seem like concussed works too."

Nick shrugs. "I'm a pacifist. I'll take you to dinner."

Louis smiles very quickly before he schools his features, and Nick only feels a little guilty for how glad he is that Louis slipped on ice and busted his head open the other day.

He takes Louis to dinner at a swank restaurant and they fight over everything from what kind of wine to order to what kind of tip to leave, and then he takes Louis back to his house.

They snog on the sofa and strip each other down slowly, a documentary on Bob Dylan on the television in the background. Nick eases Louis down onto the cushions and kisses his way down Louis's torso, grins when Louis laughs breathily, ticklish on his stomach, and then buries his face between Louis's legs and sucks him, thumbing over his hole, taking him to the edge again and again until Louis is tugging at his hair harshly and cursing him and begging all at once, and then swallowing everything down when he comes with a harsh cry of Nick's name.

They make it to the bedroom eventually and Nick fucks Louis hard, Louis's fingernails digging into his back, Nick's hands leaving bruises on his hips. Louis is loud and demanding and then sweet and soft in the aftermath, and they're such a mess after that they share a shower and then stumble into bed. Louis's asleep in seconds, still recovering from his concussion, and Nick sweeps his thumb over the throb of Louis's pulse. He has no idea what he's doing here.

He's absolutely fucked.

 

 

Weeks later, on his way to find something for a late lunch, Nick falters mid-stride and stands somewhat awkwardly when he comes across Louis in the hall at his hospital. 

They've been sort of dating for three weeks, and the sudden sight of his Personal Life at his workplace is jarring. He can only imagine the expression on his face—battling between confused and glad and worried—so he's not very surprised when Louis arches one perfect eyebrow and says, "Are you having an aneurysm?"

"Possibly," Nick replies dryly. They're silent for long enough that Nick feels awkward and clears his throat. "Are you...here to see me?" He can't help the way his voice lilts, like he might be afraid of that.

Louis rolls his eyes, smirking. "You're all ego, Grimshaw. Am I here to see you. Honestly. I'm here to get these out." He traces a finger down the bumps of the stitches on the side of his face. "I've got an appointment with Greg in three minutes."

Huh. The idea of Greg removing them is somewhat upsetting. Greg would jump into Louis's trousers at the first available opportunity. Nick would pretend that he's not prone to jealousy, but he doesn't want to.

"I'll do it."

Louis _smirks_ , looking delightedly evil. "I thought you said Greg is a perfectly capable physician, Dr. Grimshaw."

"Shut it," says Nick, gripping Louis by the shoulder and steering him into the exam room across the hall where his chart is hanging in its holster right outside the door.

"Am I being taken advantage of? Should I be—"

Nick kisses him as soon as the door is closed, and Louis hums a pleased sound and walks them backward toward the exam table until Nick can pin him there. He thumbs at Louis's chin and pulls back, looking stern. Louis's smiling, sincere and easy and like the fucking sun. Greg walks in a few seconds later and stares at them, and then starts to cackle, and Nick throws a spool of nylon thread at him until he retreats, belting Britney Spears's _Sometimes_ at the top of his lungs.

The stitches come out cleanly, and Nick rubs his latex-encased thumb gently over the wound. "It might scar, but I don't think it will be very noticeable."

Louis narrows his eyes at him accusingly. "You're _glad_."

Nick shrugs. "I kind of like it, yeah. Gives your face some character."

"You just like it because it's yours," says Louis, because he won't let Nick get away with _anything_. And yes, all right, so it's true. He slaps Louis's face gently and then strips his gloves off. Louis's grinning smugly. "When do you finish up here, anyway? Harry and Li want to go for drinks."

"I'm very busy and important," says Nick primly.

Louis hops off the exam table and straightens his clothes. He's in trousers rolled up at the ankles and a bright blue t-shirt and a jacket that he stole from Nick that's far too big for him. It's late February.

"We saw you with that _boy_ ," little Lucy says later. "With Louis. Lovely Hazza took us for a _walk_ and we saw you _kiss him_. Is he your boyfriend?"

"He's my gentleman caller," says Nick.

"I don't know what that means," Alice says seriously. She's lying down, exhausted and ill after a chemo treatment. "But I reckon it means he's your boyfriend."

Nick just came down to check on them before he left work, so he draws with Lucy for a bit and hangs the pictures up around Alice's bed, and then bids the girls goodnight and heads out.

He has a picture message from Harry on his phone, a clip of he and Louis through the window of an exam room door, lips touching, Louis's hands on Nick's face. Nick drags his thumb over it, curses himself for a fucking idiot, and saves it.

 

 

Winter fades to spring, and Louis swaps stealing Nick's jackets and jumpers to stealing his t-shirts and belts. Harry has Liam in his mobile's contact list as _Boyfriend_ and they go on holiday to Harry's dad's bungalow one weekend and come back grinning like idiots and looking utterly debauched. Louis squeezes Nick's hand where they're sat on his and Harry's living room sofa and offers him an encouraging smile, and Nick has no idea what it means but he grins back, kisses Louis's hair, breathes him in.

 

 

Nick has every intention of going the fuck _home_ , of washing his skin until it peels and everything that this horrible day touched is sloughed off and gone. He has every intention of showering and crawling into bed and sleeping for eighteen hours. So when he finds himself walking into a university library instead, he's more frustrated than surprised.

It's a Friday night, so it's relatively empty and he spots Louis right away, stepping into the elevator that will take him and a cart of returned books up to the stacks on the second floor. Nick takes the stairs, and wanders endless aisles until he finds him, using the bottom of the cart as a stool to reach a higher shelf.

"You should just attach a footstool to your tool belt, love."

Louis looks around at him, makes a face. He hates how small he is, _hates_ it. Naturally, Nick points it out as much as he conceivably can without getting hit in the balls.

"Fuck off," says Louis, cheerfully enough, but he's eyeing Nick curiously and a part of Nick hates how well this little snot has learnt to read him. He just bats his eyelashes and sinks down to sit on the floor next to Louis's feet, stretching his legs out long and groaning in relief at finally sitting down. He can't even be arsed to protest when Louis nudges him in the ribs with his foot. "Did you need a book, sir?"

Nick tilts his head back against the edge of one of the shelves. It digs into his skull painfully, but he can see Louis better, his face shadowed by the bad lighting directly above him. His scar stands out in sharp relief. "Do you work tomorrow?"

"I work every day, Nicholas."

"Tomorrow day, then."

Louis shakes his head, turns his attention away to continue shelving books. "No."

Nick doesn't say anything else, extraordinarily tired, and after a few minutes Louis says, "I'm off in fifteen minutes. You'll give me a ride home?"

Nick waves a hand dismissively. "Yes."

"By home I mean back to yours."

"I know."

Louis frowns at him, and then digs around in his pile of books and hands one to Nick. It's a children's book entitled _Polly Proctor Goes to the Doctor_. "I think you'll find it very relevant to your interests."

Nick smiles without meaning to.

He has every intention of going home and showering and going to bed, and he has every intention of Louis doing all of that with him.

It's still early, barely after ten in the evening when Nick unlocks his front door and lets Louis precede him in. Louis flips the lights on and Nick clears his throat softly. He didn't speak the entire drive home, and Louis spent the ride chattering incessantly about his work and the state of Harry and Liam's relationship and the phone call he received last night from his youngest sisters. It was kind of soothing.

They snog a bit in the shower. Nick is quite literally too exhausted to do much of anything but kissing Louis is easy, is excellent, Louis slick with water and soap and up on his toes, arms around Nick's neck, hands in Nick's hair. His mouth feels nice on Nick's neck and chest, his fingertips nice on Nick's cheek. He's quieter now, focused on getting them clean because Nick is all but useless. He scrubs Nick's hair with his ridiculous lavender scented shampoo and it feels so good that Nick moans, has always been a bit of a slag for having his hair stroked. He's overwhelmingly sleepy by the time they're all rinsed, and Louis has to kind of guide him out of the shower stall. He's able to dry himself off well enough, and they clean their teeth and Louis coddles him into his big, soft bed and crawls in after him.

Nick turns onto his back and pulls Louis with him, until Louis is on top of him, knees on either side of Nick's hips and their chests pressed together. Louis touches his face, his lips, and Nick kisses his fingers quietly and strokes Louis's back, counts the dips between his vertebrae.

"Tell me something about you," he murmurs.

Louis snorts. "What?"

"Just something," Nick says. "We've been sleeping together for four months. Tell me something _personal_."

Louis hums thoughtfully, his elbow digging into the mattress by Nick's shoulder. Nick plays Louis's ribs like they're keys on a piano, a dull thump of skin to skin that makes Louis squirm until Nick smooths it out, traces the cut of Louis's ribcage with both his thumbs and digs divots into Louis's back with his fingers.

"I'm not sure what the fuck I'm going to do when I graduate next year," is what Louis finally settles on. 

He's studying history, but really has no interest in teaching. According to Harry Louis's also very good at maths, but has no interest in doing anything with that, either, though more money could be made that way. He's also not very good at most other subjects. Nick and Harry have both been good at everything they've tried their entire lives, and Nick's come to learn that that's infuriating to most people so he doesn't talk about it much, but Louis regularly looks at Harry like he's so fucking proud of him he could just burst with it.

"There's a world of opportunity out th— _ouf_ ," Nick says, rubbing his side where Louis's jabbed him, lips quirking up into a tired smile.

"What about you, then?" Louis says. "Something personal."

"My favorite color is green."

"Of course it is. Mine is red. Let's see..." He settles his chin on Nick's chest, wedges his hands between Nick's back and the mattress. "I have four freckles on the bottom of my left foot."

"I already knew that one. Doesn't count."

"I like being told what to do?"

Nick snorts, nudges his nose. "I know that one, too."

"I've only ever been in love twice."

That one is new. Nick looks up at him, cups his cheek and kisses him. "Just once, myself."

"Mm," Louis says, his mouth warm and sweet, breath minty with Nick's toothpaste. They're quiet for a bit, and then Louis kisses his chest, his chin, and slides off of him, onto his side and tangles their fingers together loosely. He doesn't say anything, but the unspoken question is loud in the silence, and Nick's throat is tight. It takes him almost fifteen minutes to find his voice.

"Alice Ranker died on the table today."

Louis's hand has been drawing haphazard shapes on his stomach, but it stills at once and Nick closes his eyes.

The thing is that he's only been doing this a little over a year, and he's very, very good at what he does and he's been told by every mentor he's ever had that it never gets easier to lose a patient but that the guilt lessens over time. And Nick can only hope that's true, because right now he feels like he's suffocating, like the pressure on his chest and around his lungs is squeezing the life out of him, is _killing_ him without letting him die and it feels like Hell and all he can think of is all the things he might have done wrong.

Louis grips his shoulder and tugs, shifts them around until Louis's on his back and Nick's head is pillowed on his chest and he can hear Louis's heartbeat sharp and steady. Louis's hands rub up and down his back and Nick's face is wet. Louis doesn't know what to say and Nick doesn't expect him to, didn't mean to put him in this position. Little Lucy, months out of her own successful surgery, had been there with her parents and Alice's. She'd punched Nick in the thigh and then cried on him and Nick had mostly been wishing that Louis was there because he doesn't know what to do with upset kids and Louis makes everything better.

Nick kind of cries, nothing weepy or sobbing but there are tears spilling quietly down his face and onto Louis's chest and it's difficult to breathe for a while. They'd all known going in that the surgery was more risk than hope. He's not sure why it's hit him so hard now that what he expected to happen actually did.

He untucks his arm from where it's crushed under Louis's back to touch Louis's face, thumb the scar on the right side. He feels Louis's eyelashes flutter against the side of his palm.

"I have recurring dreams about my teeth crumbling out of my head, which I Googled and it apparently means that I'm vain. I have a no-narcotic request in my medical file because I got a bit hooked on pain killers when I was seventeen and I quit before it got serious but it scared me. I once spent an entire year with a Rod Stewart song as my ring tone because my parents danced around to it in our backyard when I was a boy and I wanted to do the same thing with my first crush."

Louis's voice is quiet and warm, his hand on Nick's back soothing. He takes a slow breath before he carries on. "I met Harry in a bathroom at an interschool singing competition and talked him down from a panic attack and he hugged me and dedicated his song to me on stage and we've been best friends ever since. I've only ever slept with three men in my life and you're the first one I let fuck me. I think that Liam is supremely hot. I am the worst cook in the history of the world—seriously, once set fire just trying to boil water. I've never broken a bone before. I was stung by a sea urchin when Harry and I went on holiday once. I _hate_ that I'm so short but I like that you or any of my lads will carry me around when I don't feel like walking anymore. I think it's pretty cool that you like brains and I like it best when you're happy."

Nick listens, smears his wet cheek against Louis's chest and lifts his head. He can hardly see Louis's eyes in the dark, but he knows he's blushing. Nick kisses him, tastes the salt of his own tears and Louis curls his hand around the nape of his neck. When the kiss breaks Nick rests their foreheads together.

"I'm so sorry, Nick."

Nick likes the way Louis says his name. He tucks his face into Louis's neck, closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

 

 

After that night, Louis starts to pull away. Nick is obscenely busy at the hospital, and Louis and Harry are getting ready for end of year exams, so he doesn't really notice for a few weeks, and when he does he tries to ignore it. But then Louis cancels on him for the fifth time in a row with a very weak excuse and Nick gets angry.

He finally pins him down. Metaphorically, because it's over the phone and he calls from work so Louis can't recognize the number and ignore it. He's in his office, and Louis sounds tired but Nick is hurt and frustrated and yells at him.

"If you didn't want to be with me anymore you just had to fucking say," he says nastily.

"We were never together," Louis argues. "Not really."

"Were you sleeping with other people?"

Louis's quiet for a few moments, but then answers a reluctant no, and Nick rolls his eyes. "I know you like to play at immaturity but this is taking it a bit far, love. Avoiding phone calls? Really?"

"Fuck you, Nick," says Louis angrily. "You don't have any fucking idea what—"

He cuts himself off, swearing furiously. Nick has him on speaker, and he has no idea where Louis is, but he can hear Harry in the background and then Liam, so he assumes he's at home.

"What?" Nick asks. "What do I not have any fucking idea about? Aside from the obvious."

"I love you!" Louis shouts, like an accusation, and Nick blinks at the picture of Greg with Pixie on his back on his desk that Pixie put there almost a year ago, like she might give him answers. Her picture remains stubbornly unhelpful, and now Louis is yelling. "I love you and we've had this fucking no strings attached thing and I knew when we started that it would be like that because you're so fucking mooneyed over Harry and I know it hurt you when he started in with Liam and I know you kind of wanted to nail me too and I _wanted you_ so I let it happen but I can't anymore, okay? I can't be all head over arse in love with you without it bloody killing me to be with you, and I'm done. I'm sorry."

He hangs up.

Nick's jaw has quite literally dropped, and Greg is standing in the doorway wearing bright orange scrubs and blue trainers, his eyes very wide. Nick stares at him, speechless, for a full four minutes, and then Greg says, "He thinks you're in love with _Harry?_ "

"How did this become my life?" asks Nick.

Greg laughs, and Nick drops his head to the table, snickering himself, the relief so intense it kind of hurts.

 

When he gets home, Harry and Liam are in his house, and Harry is cooking something that smells amazing while Liam hovers nearby and looks at Nick anxiously like Nick's going to be cross with them for breaking into his house. Harry's done this at least once a week since Nick met him, though, so he just pats Liam companionably on the shoulder and steals a mushroom from the frying pan Harry's tossing vegetables in artistically like he's on the food channel.

"Your friend is an absolute tit," he tells Harry.

Harry grins. "I know. But I love him anyway. And so do you."

"Alas," laments Nick.

"So we're going to eat dinner and then I'm going to drive you to the library so that you can make a huge romantic gesture and let him know, because he's been very pathetic about it all and won't believe me when I tell him he's wrong."

Nick has never made a big romantic gesture before, but he agrees. He'd really like to see Louis again.

 

 

The university library is quite full on a Wednesday night right at the end of the term. Liam and Harry usher him inside and Harry ducks behind a shelf of popular books and peeks over it like an idiot, scoping out Louis, who is across the floor at the check out desk, a text book open in front of him, looking miserable.

"There he is!" Harry whispers.

"Thank you, love," Nick says dryly, and Harry grins sweetly. Liam gives Nick an encouraging shove and drags Harry out from behind the shelf, because they've been spotted. Louis looks caught somewhere between horrified and fainting. Nick straightens his shoulders and strides over to him. Louis is frozen, a pen in his hand, his lips parted and his fringe falling into his eyes.

"'lo Lou," he says once he's close enough.

Louis doesn't even blink, blue eyes very wide. "I. Yes. Hello?"

"I've come to check out a book. I think you may have heard of it. _Polly Proctor Goes to the Doctor_?"

Louis tilts his head slowly, like he can't quite control it. "The children's section is on the second floor," he murmurs dazedly.

Nick quirks a grin. He takes Louis's pen, because it's pointed at him, and puts the cap on it. "I cannot even begin to describe the level of idiocy you've reached, darling."

Louis frowns at him sharply. "You came here to tell me that?"

"I was _dragged_ here to tell you that," Nick says, waving a hand at Liam and Harry who are curled together and watching avidly, still just inside the entrance.

"Nick, I'm—"

"When I told you that I'd only been in love one time I wasn't talking about _Harry_ , you absolute bleeding monster."

Louis makes a soft, fragile sound in his throat and Nick's cold dead heartstrings tug beseechingly. He walks around the desk and crouches down next to Louis's chair, spins it so they're facing each other. Louis still looks shell-shocked. "I don't understand."

"I was talking about you. I thought it was kind of a given that I've been stupid over you practically since we met. It never occurred to me that you were sleeping with me in some self-sacrificing attempt to soothe my wounds from Harry's having a new beau."

Louis's quiet for a long time, and then he leans forward a bit and clutches at Nick's jacket, thumbing along the zip. "Nick if you're fucking with me—"

"What would I possibly gain from fucking with you about this? Honestly. Like I _chose_ this? You're spoilt and ridiculous and so high maintenance it crushes my _soul_ a bit and you don't ever shut up and you talk through films and you do things like slip on ice and bust your skull open and—"

Louis jumps on him, and they hit the ground with an echoing thud and Nick's mouth is full of Louis's tongue and yes, all right, he can deal with this. He can hear Harry and Liam cheering loudly across the library and a chorus of people telling them to shut the hell up. Louis looks down at him with lovely blue eyes and a smile so uncertain it makes Nick kiss him again.

"I thought. You talk about him all the time and you're best mates and the two of you are so cuddly and you have so much in common and I thought. I just. I thought it was him."

"You thought wrong. It's sort of always been you. Wanker."

Louis laughs, but it's weak, and Nick wraps his arms around him and tugs him down into another kiss.

"I don't know if you deserve me," Louis mumbles against his mouth. "You're just a bloody neurosurgeon, and it's cardiologists who're the real deal, everyone knows that."

"What've I got myself into?" Nick groans.

Louis laughs, kisses him again, and again, and then one more time, and then lifts his head and looks down at Nick with a cautious, heart-wrenching smile.

"Last chance to back out, Grimshaw," he whispers.

Nick threads his fingers into Louis's hair. "I'm in if you are, Tomlinson."

Louis _smiles_ , and Nick tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and thinks _Yes_.


End file.
